


spit-polished cyberware

by nimrodcracker



Series: berlin blues [2]
Category: Shadowrun, Shadowrun: Dragonfall
Genre: F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Slice of Life, Spoilers for MKVI mission onwards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24164770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimrodcracker/pseuds/nimrodcracker
Summary: a continuation of creases, of sorts. loosely connected drabbles of team bonding, in-game events, and character moments.through all that, glimmer's growing realisation on how deep her feelings for glory run.
Relationships: Female Protagonist/Monika Schäfer, Glory/Female Protagonist (Shadowrun: Dragonfall)
Series: berlin blues [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743943
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	spit-polished cyberware

Being a mage, Glimmer is gifted with the sight of a third eye. She observes more than what the common mundane does. Sometimes, she wonders if it's more curse than blessing. It helped, back in Vienna - sensing people's auras, weeding out the wage slaves who really wanted to escape, from moles hired by the corps to infiltrate espionage units like hers. Saved her from plenty of scrapes, because auras don't change and at least that, she can trust.

On the 25th floor of AG Chemie Europa, she tries it again out of simple curiosity when Glory inspects the Cyberzombie. It happens too fast- blackness, terror, emptiness - _K I L L M E_ \- before she shudders out of it, sweat dripping from her brow. She wipes her forehead and closes her eyes briefly, noticing later that Glory is looking at her. Worriedly. However much she shows with stoicism and without emotion. 

A little shake of Glory's head; missable if Glimmer doesn't pay attention. Almost doesn't - she's stopped staring at the writhing abyss of an aura, but it lingers. 

Glimmer whispers back. "I know."

At that, Glory's shoulders relax.

"What's going on, chief?" Blitz shifts from feet to feet, looking her up and down. Knows that something is off, since he'd jacked into the Cyberzombie moments ago. "This something to do with how weird my new toy feels?"

Glimmer flinches at Blitz's choice of words. _That's a person_. She catches Glory's gaze again, intense yet emotionless, before turning back to the decker. Notices Eiger clench her jaw in her periphery, too; tense, gripping her Mossberg a bit tighter. They all know something's wrong, even if it remains unsaid.

Glimmer inhales sharply, favouring her crew with a steely look. Nuyen to Alice and steps towards finding Vauclair slipping from her fingers because of _morals_. "We will be disappointing Herr Schmidt tonight. Cyberzombie isn't going anywhere. Honestly? I'd rather just kill it, but that's not the right thing to do."

"Then what is, Glimmer?" Eiger cuts in, crisp and precise. KSK-sharp, as always. 

Glimmer nods to Glory; signal enough for her to reach for the Cyberzombie's control panel. "Release the zombie. Whatever happens, it will be on their own terms."

But morals make them who they are - she will not lose herself just to avenge _dein Liebling_.

Monika wouldn't want that. 

* * *

Dietrich sets a cup of Turkish coffee in front of her, glass clinking against wood. "Hey, got this for you. A lil pick-me-up. Doesn't take much to know something's eating away at you. Something happen at AG Chemie? Rest of the crew's all tight-lipped about it. They ghost on me the moment I walk to wherever they are."

"Am I that transparent? _Drek_." 

"Ain't so much transparent as being a shadowrunner with a shock of colours - purple hair, brown skin, navy three-piece suit, and your rainbow bowtie? Or maybe I'm just that good at reading people, love." Dietrich pats her shoulder in affection, just like how Herr Amsel does it. "You take care of everyone, but who takes care of you?"

"You got me there." She savours the woody waft of Turkish roast, lets it settle deep in her throat before taking a welcome sip. As always, it's heavenly. "Nothing, just thinking about how things've turned out. Why I came back, what I'd needed, and... didn't get. I cannot help but wonder what Monika would do. How she'd do it. I know I'm not her. I'm not the novahot, suave decker with a spine of chrome. I'm not someone worth following. Not if you knew the _drek_ I did."

"Funny you should say that, boss. Because I think you've already done it - Beckenbauer's named a plaza after you. And after saving Alexander, you have my respect. Dunno about Eiger, she's always stingy with praise, but Glory sure as hell appreciates you - can't fake that ease around you, boss. Whatever you did, does it really matter now?"

"Maybe it doesn't." 

Glimmer believes him, she does. But what she believes and what she feels are two separate things. _Geisterzone_ lingers in recent memory like Absinthe's attention on her when she thinks Glimmer isn't paying attention.

She can only hope to heaven that it fades away, the anguish and the guilt. 

_Berlin was supposed to be home, but where's home without you?_

* * *

"Where did she find you, pup?" Glimmer scratches the back of Dante's ears, earning her a content whine. "A fine fellow you are."

"Off the streets, I believe. I remember the day Monika brought him home. It was raining. She'd left for soykaf and sandwiches, and when she returned, she held a puppy, small and cradled in her arms. Both of them sopping wet. Monika caught the cold the next morning, but Dante licked her stubbornly the entire night, as if he could stop it." 

Herr Amsel beams when Dante bounds up to him, and he crouches to scratch the hound's nose. "Who's a good boy?"

Dante _woofs_ in response. 

Glimmer smiles at the sight: Herr Amsel beaming at a dog happily wagging its tail, the slight breeze billowing his gray scarf bundled around his neck. "Mundane she is, Monika had a good sense for other beings. It helped us get by in the streets we used to run in."

Sometimes, she slips into her astral eye. Usually, she doesn't mean to. Little things set her off - the honk of a van, the groan of wheels under weight. Now, it's the ugly squeal of claws against pavement. Dante's claws. Just like that, Glimmer feels her world shift - briefly, bizarrely, as astral projection is wont to do. 

And as she reels, colours sliding back into focus, she blinks at the hound amongst them. 

"Glimmer?" Herr Amsel looks to her, concern apparent. He has a hand on Dante's head, still, but not ruffling anymore.

Glimmer shakes her head, shakes herself and rubs her eyes with the cuff of her shirt, just to be sure. Because for a moment there, Dante blazed like a _hellhound_ in glorious, fiery crimson. She squints at her hands again, focuses on the creases in her worn, worn skin that are constant. Timeless. Roughened by arcane energy and simple hard living in the Barrens, but the same. 

The same hands with hellfire spitting from her fingertips.

She meets Herr Amsel's gaze, and gives him a pinched smile. "Nothing. When did she find him, though?"

"Two years ago? Shortly after I became her fixer. Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity." Glimmer sinks to Dante's level, reaching to scratch him again behind the ears. "Since we were children, Monika was always fascinated by my ability to manipulate fire. _Hell_ -fire." 

Herr Amsel pauses, looks to her and Dante with a question in his eyes. "Indeed. Monika was always fascinated by curious things."

Glimmer doesn't answer, doesn't let him know that she's wondering to whom his question is intended.

Dante wags his tail, tongue lolling about with saliva dripping to the floor. 

* * *

Glimmer swears she can smell brimstone on her, even though the kiez is snowing and she's downed enough chemically flavoured soykaf shit to counteract the smell that stubbornly clings to her clothes. Not even the heady smell of dinner could overcome that, not even if she'd gotten her hands dirty with chopping and stuffing _bratwurst_ with vat-grown meat because Dietrich had asked. Nicely. 

Then again, it hadn't been the entire crew busying themselves for dinner prep. Glory wasn't- none of the crew saw her around after Feuerstelle. One moment, Glimmer was parking the van in the garage, with Glory hopping out even before she killed the engine. In another, Glory was gone - neither in the garage, nor the safehouse. Gone, like a shadow.

Doesn't matter. More _bratwurst_ and processed _sauerkraut_ paste for everyone, then. And leftovers there are, that even the collective efforts of Dietrich, Herr Amsel, and Dante can't chomp down. Eiger turns her nose up at the Germans shovelling meat and mustard into their mouths and she excuses herself before the night's done, muttering something about equipment maintenance. That's when Glimmer takes her own leave with a plate piled with food to the roof to brood.

Brimstone and ash, dust and flesh. Feuerstelle represented the worst a wizard could inflict on others; a timely reminder of what Glimmer could become, if she wasn't careful. 

If she wasn't certain of who she was as a person. 

Throughout, Glimmer nibbles on her slices of _bratwurst_ skewered on her combat knife.

Snowfall is light tonight, coating the roof and what she can see of her kiez in ivory. There isn't any wind whistling through the rafters, quiet, no louder than the sounds in the distance of downtown - but Glimmer doesn't hear her coming.

Just a sudden presence revealing itself, before the tell-tale twittering of chrome and hydraulics as Glory sits beside her. Hesitates - or reconsiders, who knows - before she does. 

Glimmer can't help but smile as she turns to Glory. "Hey, you." 

"Hello." 

Glory doesn't say more, doesn't match her smile, so Glimmer doesn't. Notes the clouded quality to Glory's eyes, gazing towards unseen horizons... Glimmer leaves her be. She pushes the plate of _bratwurst_ nearer to her, at least.

No reaction. 

This silence is agreeable to Glimmer, herself caught up in her own musings on fallen friends and ruptured relationships. As always, her hands stray to her pocket, and the photograph nestled inside. Still crinkled at the corners, coarse to her skin.

"Tell me about her."

"Who, Monika? Honestly, you have worked with her long enough. I don't know what I can say that you would not already know. She's an open spellbook, the way I'm not."

"No, Glimmer." Glory's tone is clipped like a razor's edge, at odds with her indifferent expression, relaxed posture- hands gathered in her lap. "Tell me about _dein Schatz_. Your beloved."

Glimmer freezes. Her fingers remain glued to the photograph in her pocket. She's confused - Glory doesn't ask, doesn't pry. Keeps the secrets of others at a distance, just as she keeps their bodies away, too. Doesn't let most in. She sees no need to. 

But Glimmer, Glimmer acquiesces.

She tells Glory about the place immortalised in a snapshot, the runs they used to go for. The hand-ground coffee Monika used to surprise her with for breakfast, the secret messages she'd leave in the Matrix for Monika to stumble upon. 

Glimmer tells Glory about the many little ways they would love each other as the snow drifts down from obsidian skies. Like the rest of the kiez, the snow drapes itself on her button-down shirt, the fabric blending with the snow. 

It chills her, leaves her hair standing on end, but not to the bone. "How are things between you and Marta?"

Glory blinks. "They aren't." 

Glory isn't wearing the ring from Feuerstelle. In fact, Glimmer hasn't seen the ring around the safehouse since - wherever Glory placed it, it's somewhere hidden. Out of sight. 

"How do you feel about it?" 

"Confused." Glory frowns, scrunches her eyebrows ever-so-slightly. The word doesn't sit well with her. "Conflicted. That is why I told her to stay away." 

"Fair. Time and space solves a multitude of things." It can lessen the hurt. It can introduce clarity into confused, hurting hearts. If only it solved death... "In the meantime, _bratwurst_?"

Glory takes it, the _bratwurst_. Picks one up between two spindly talons, _sauerkraut_ smeared all over a side, and takes a small bite. Whether she finds it delicious or absolutely abhorrent, Glimmer can't tell - and that's what she tells herself, why she's letting her gaze linger for no reason, before she closes her eyes with an inhale. The chill begins to prickle her bones. 

"I jest," Glimmer explains. "But if you need someone to listen, to converse with." About lost loves. About grieving for what used to be. About- "I am here."

Glory finally looks up, looks to Glimmer. Looks _at_ Glimmer, unyielding gaze that has Glimmer's throat in a sudden stranglehold the longer she doesn't look away. 

Glory says far little when Glimmer sees- _senses_ \- the vast world hidden behind the walls she's built. 

Of all things the chromed woman Glimmer expected to do, it's not to say this.

"You already are."

* * *

Sirens. The occasional gunshot. Boots on the ground. 

They know those sounds, the sound of Star and pawns and all manner of corp-bought officials crawling over territory they just slot and ran from. Whatever they can glance at through the dusty blinds, they will - through blinds that stop the world outside from looking into the safe haven of a rundown soykaf joint.

For Glimmer, this is all wiz. Old hat. Truthfully, anything to distract herself from how she feels shrapnel and bullets riddling her insides in no less than three places. 

Glory is a competent field medic, just- not someone with commendable bedside manners. Only silence, accompanied by the _snick_ _stick_ _stitch_ of ripping cloth and wrappings. 

"That was... interesting." Eiger shuffles her boots. Sets aside her gear, and rummages inside her backpack for something. Looks no better than someone who needs to keep their hands busy. "This something you're familiar with, Glimmer?" 

"Welcome to my world. Or, well, the one I formerly called home, back in V-" Glimmer winces when Glory presses a bit too hard - but the feeling passes quickly. She sighs. Hears Glory pause just for the briefest of moments, before continuing. "Sorry. Back in Vienna. Standard runs I did included infiltration, posing as security, ripping off the suits... brings back memories."

"Not gonna lie, chief. Some moments I wanted to just shit my pants - like, we're talking about _Azzies_ , here. Fooling around in their compound, with KE uniforms?" Blitz shakes his head, ginger hair a frizzy mess. "Holy shit."

"Please, my ears were twitching the entire time. I was _not_ nearly as chill as you think I was. Azzies a- _ow!_ " 

The last bullet plinks on the floor, bloody and squashed from the initial impact. Despite appearances, Glory tenderly wraps up Glimmer's wound and clasps her arm softly once done. "There. You will be fine."

"Still a squishy mage, though." Patting her bandaged torso, Glimmer smiles up at Glory, hoping she looks half decent even with her suit rumpled and singed in places, soot smeared all over. Glory's lingering touch is warm, comforting, and Glimmer savours it as much as she can. "You're like my guardian angel, the way you always patch me up."

Glory does not blush. No. She only huffs as she peers closely at Glimmer, expression inscrutable. She looks away, busying with packing her medkit. "Next time, avoid bullets. Not hurl yourself towards them. How many shirts have you ruined?"

"Two, but it's nothing some needlework can't fix. I would start worrying when they mess with my purple hair, however."

"Regardless..." Eiger catches Glimmer's attention with a raise of her mess tin and a tap on her shoulder. "You did good, Glimmer. Or should I say, fearless leader. You did good. But I agree with Glory - don't take bullets for me. I'm the one with proper body armour. Your ballistic weave suit tailored for wageslaves does _not_ count." 

"Are y'all always like that?" Danni weaves past with a steaming pot of more soykaf. Glimmer can smell the steam that wafts from the spout - and she can't help but inhale deeply, watching as Danni replaces the pot on the table. "Must make for fun conversations at the dinner table. You're a weird family... but wiz."

"I'm afraid so," Glory answers, pouring herself a fresh cup of soykaf. She moves to settle back at her spot by the windows, shutters down, to keep watch over the bustle happening on the wrong side of the cafe's doors. 

"Sometimes she checks out," Blitz pipes in, licking the crumbs off his bare fingers. "In the middle of talking with someone, her eyes'll glaze over, sometimes roll back into her head, and she doesn't even bother hiding it. That's not all - one time, she started gabbing about essence and dragon poop."

Danni blinks. Then, she quickly clears the table and makes herself scarce, scurrying back to the kitchen with an apologetic, "I'll be bringing out the pies, now!" 

Blitz leans in with a smug look, mug dangling off his rail-thin fingers. "I told you your wizard juju was weird."

"Excuse me? Are you really blaming me for something I cannot control?" 

Glory turns away from the window, catching Glimmer's gaze. "It is not weird, Blitz. It is useful." 

"All else said, that's beyond the point." Glimmer looks at her crew, various degrees of mirth and censure, and she pouts. "I still managed to resist the blood spell without screaming."

Blitz blanches like a sheet. "Blood... spell?"

"That's why she went rigid during her conversation with the Aztech wizard." Glory sips at her soykaf, settling into a comfortable lean against the wall. Her eyes drift to the world beyond the blinds.

"O-kay chief. Maybe that's something I'm better off _not_ knowing."

"All wiz, Blitz. Focus on what you're good at. Leave the rest to me - or whoever else capable of handling whatever. We're all top-notch - it's a privilege to run with all of you."

"Damn right." Eiger knocks back her drink in one gulp. 

And what a mighty fine crew she has, Glimmer muses. Sirens and boots still ring out in the distance, but here, now, in a deadbeat soykaf joint owned by a trio of street punks, they can breathe. 

Call it a wizard's instinct for bad juju, but Glimmer knows they'll need it.

* * *

Herr Amsel weighs her with his gaze with those scrutinising eyes, seemingly open but betraying nothing. Blinks, then taps Glimmer on her shoulder, as thought satisfied with what he sees. "I had my doubts when Monika first brought you on board, though I kept it to myself. Now, I'm certain she chose her successor well."

"Well, Herr Amsel, if I had a choice, I wished I didn't have to be her successor to begin with." Glimmer smiles, sad and soft. "Thank you for the password."

Later, as the train rattles closer to the U-Bahn platform with Alice's arcade machine, Glimmer hefts the credstick again. She closes her eyes, whispering, "I'm coming, _mein Liebling_. I'm coming." 

It feels like the _Geisterzone_ all over. The heaviness, the needle-pricking anticipation; the beginning of the end. The moment when the Wolves marked her, cased her, all because she reached out to an informant. A potential ally. An escaped wage slave who begged her to delete corporate records and research on biotech experimentation, going beyond what her mission called for. 

She followed her heart, then, and she paid for it dearly. The shadows are not kind to those who run in it. 

But like before, the only way is forward. Shadowrunning will not harden her heart. She will not contort herself for nuyen, even if it kills her.

Then, like before, everything falls apart. 

She gets ambushed on the ride back. Herr Amsel broadcasts his demise over team comms. The Kreuzbasar is attacked, and her crew, hunted down like ghouls by mercs.

Eiger is the first friendly face she meets as she disembarks, soot and ozone clinging to her skin. She could kiss the troll and thoroughly enjoy it - but Eiger wouldn't. (Not that she'd asked, but... never mind). Then Dietrich near Altug's joint, holding back mercs with sheer shamanic willpower. And after, Glory, ripping into bodies after bodies foolish enough to stand in her way. Her team, reunited, until Glimmer strides for their safehouse with blood racing in her ears; fixated by the singular desire to _where's Amsel, where is he, is he o-_

His head, spattered all over the walls like a smashed watermelon. 

Glimmer can only gape in horror, hands fumbling for a surface, crook, lip to anchor on, while she sways from the wedge of emotion driving itself deep inside her heart. Her lips moving before her mind realises, "It's happened again."

All within the span of an hour. 

No, it does not end here. Her problems- the _crew's_ problems balloon up the moment Glimmer slots in Alice's datastick into the terminal. 

Vauclair is at Harfeld. They're returning there again. APEX killed Monika. APEX is a super-powered A.I. They have to remove APEX before hitting Harfeld. How in the Sixth World do they do that, without Herr Amsel?

Fingers turning to soybutter, Glimmer collapses into the nearest chair. 

* * *

"Trithemeus... you asshole. Worthless piece of shit dandelion eater. It's folk like you that ensure the Angry, Dangerous Mage stereotype lives on. But I think you are forgetting something: _Bedenke, dass du sterben musst._ "

Beside her, Eiger tenses. 

"Oh yeah? We'll see." Trithemeus moves his hands with a flourish, growing a ball of energy between his palms- 

He is not fast enough. 

Glimmer, sweet Glimmer, better known for her outlandish fashion sense and her friendliness - she has her palms outstretched. Her hands, smoking from the fireball she'd just unleashed straight at Trithemeus. 

He disappears in ash and dust.

That's how the room erupts in gunfire. Spellcasting. Smoke. Within seconds, it's over. Arcane energy swirls in the room, the echoes of spirits lingering in the air, but it settles as the bodies drop to the floor. 

Glimmer strides over to Trithemeus - what's left of him - and squishes him to a stain under her boots. All the while, her lips remain pressed into a line.

She doesn't like killing any more than the regular person, but like always, in this line of work, people force her hand. The most she can do is a warning for the future. A warning that they hear too late. 

She says her next words like an eulogy. "Remember that you are going to die."

* * *

"It's lovely to see you again, Tay. I'd hoped for this chance to talk."

" _mein Liebling_ ," Glimmer breathes out, a terrible mass of entangled emotions settling in her belly. She feels her brain shudder to a stop, like a U-Bahn train smashing into a wall, and her hand reaches out to lay itself flat against the display - as if somehow, she can feel Monika on her fingers again. "It's you."

But the display is cold, and the warmth not quite reaching Monika's eyes. _Not_ -Monika.

"Glimmer, don't. That's not Monika. It can't be," Eiger warns, just as Glory tersely states, "APEX is toying with you."

"I know it isn't, because she died in my arms. I believe in magic, but no magic can resurrect the dead. Not even the magic of the Matrix." Glimmer doesn't turn to her crew. She only allows a sad smile to form on her face; a smile seen only by not-Monika as she takes a step back. 

Not-Monika winks, coquettish, as Monika's wont to do in meatspace... once. 

Glimmer smells brimstone on her clothes, brimstone on her skin - as the heat builds in her palms. "With all due respect, I loathe you more for defiling the memory of a person who means the world to me. Still, I thank you for granting me the opportunity to see her, one more time."

At that, Glimmer hurls a fireball at the display.

As the surface cracks and hisses, more charred wires and smoking metal, Glimmer makes a promise. To herself, to Monika. 

"Wherever you are, _mein Liebling_ , I will find you."

Two shutdown ports. Waves of Communionists and drones and forgettable enemies thrown their way by not-Monika to interrupt their shutdown processes. It takes time before shutdown protocols complete their cycle, purge the system clean of the abomination called APEX. Abomination, because it killed on command, because it could do nothing else. Had no choice. 

Glimmer knows it happens, the moment all but her crew freeze mid-action. Not-Monika flashes on screens, pours her voice from speakers all around. Glimmer had wrecked the main display minutes before, but APEX controls the facility... for now. 

As not-Monika says her last words, shows them the grainy footage of something that does not register, Glimmer swears, she _swears_ there's the faintest glimmer of that self-same smirk, the mischievous grin of who used to be. The heart-tugging curl of her lips as she mentions Glimmer's name. _Tay_. 

But blue light spills from her visage, overwhelms her, till nothing of not-Monika remains. And then, it becomes quiet once again. 

"Everyone alright?" She hears Eiger sound off, checking on the rest of the crew. 

Then, an awkward touch on her shoulder, as if afraid of doing more. Trolls always fear their strength too much. 

"Glimmer?"

"Like I said. APEX or no, it's good to see her again." Glimmer closes her eyes, slides her hand into a pants pocket. Searches for the folded photograph and takes it out for all to see. Whether they do, she does not care. She does not care because Monika is, and always will be, important to her. "Whatever comes, she is with me. Always."

Glimmer tucks the photograph in the inside of her waistcoat, close to her heart. In a quieter voice, she says, " _Sei friedlich, mein Schatz_."

* * *

Maybe there's something to be said about mages and emotions. If spells are linked to essence, and essence to dispositions and feelings, a mage on a rampage is a sight to behold. 

Fury is blinding. Grief is paralyzing. But harnessed? 

In its purest form, emotions are _energy_.

Righteous anger turns a mage from a backline skirmisher to a frontline vanguard. Glimmer is a streetname inspired by the desire to never let the light inside her sputter out; a promise to not lose sight of better days, however slight. But Glimmer also means this: the spark of flame off a finger. The flicker of intent in her narrowed gaze. That's all these security bucketheads see before they turn to ash.

There's nothing like a mage on a rampage, a lover scorned, a friend in sorrow. Woe befell those who earned Glimmer's ire: incinerated to mere ash and cinder. If they survive that - well, Eiger and Blitz picks them off with bullets, Glory shreds them to ribbons, and Dietrich poisons them till they go blind, eternal.

They know why they're here, in Harfeld. They know what needs to be done, in the lab below. And they fucking well do it. The trail of bodies from the courtyard till the elevators bears testimony to that. 

When the elevator opens to the basement, however, the few of them who'd been there before...

Glimmer makes it a point to "touch base" with the Matrix access point where it all began, not daring to touch it, not daring- 

She runs her fingers along it, the fabric of her fingerless gloves catching on the metal and the grooves. 

"Is this where it happened?" Eiger approaches, her gruff voice floating over from behind. "Glory and Dietrich don't say it, but I can tell they're uneasy."

It's clear what Eiger refrains from mentioning. _And so are you_.

Glimmer presses her fingers against a particularly dark scorch mark, before pulling her hand away. Monika's limp body, heavy in her arms. Eyes locked on hers, but empty.

Glimmer swallows down the memory. "Yes."

* * *

Oh, Glimmer goes giddy at the thought of knocking people down a peg. To shake their certainty, remind them of their undeniable mortality. Their fallibility. 

Maybe, she wanted justice and revenge. Bloody, before. But now...

There is satisfaction in turning people, twisting them out of shape. Contorting them into someone they swore never to be. That's what Vienna did to her. She doesn't quite know if she's bent herself back into shape, or if it's even worth trying.

What can she demand from a dead man, anyway? What can a dead man do for her, that others cannot? A dead man cannot raise the dead. Only answers, but that's not what Glimmer seeks. 

Vauclair crumbles at the sheer logic in her words, and it's an added bonus when Audran blasts his head open in disappointment. Vauclair, realising how all that's passed is simply for nothing. How all his pain and suffering was for nothing.

Justice. 

There's one thing she desires: his convictions. 

Revenge. 

* * *

Panacea has ceased. Feuerschweige's body isn't being pumped full of viruses. 

Audran is on the floor. 

He thrashes, limpy, weakly, blood dribbling and leaking from cracks in his armour. The material, pried away as if by claws. 

Glimmer, sweet Glimmer, silver tongue common to elves, and charisma oozing off her like the magic that courses through her veins. Glimmer kicks away Audran's sidearm, picks it up. Sees the primal fear in his eyes... and smiles.

Glimmer, sweet Glimmer, deflecting suspicion with well-placed words and the curl of her lips, cocks Audran's sidearm. She shoots him in the head. Point blank.

His head explodes. What's left is no better than a husk, dripping like a smashed watermelon.

All that took no more than a silent second. 

Only then, does she speak. " _Sei friedlich_ , Herr Amsel. It is done." 

Some do not deserve to be acknowledged. 

Audran does not. 

* * *

Soon after, she sets Feuerschweinge free. To care for the green, the oft-mentioned tale that rings in their ears the moment they're old enough to walk. Tír na nÓg lives in them - elves carry their homeland in their veins, their flesh, regardless of how far they run. Their homeland, their magic, their customs. There's power in places, nature... people. 

"Did we really do that?" Blitz looks to her, searching her delicate features for some answer. Some sense. "Release a dragon?"

"Unless we're all addled by combat fatigue and blood loss, then absolutely." Glimmer is the last to enter the elevator up, and she stands just shy of the sliding doors behind her. She dusts her sleeves: fabric splattered crimson in places, ends frayed and singed over her wristwatch. Glory's eyes linger on her palms, red and raw from burns. "May Feuerschweinge find peace in greener pastures."

Glimmer does not destroy what one doesn't know. 

That is the elven way. At least, that is what she tells herself, and her crew, should they ask.

Anything but admit that she sees too much of herself in a dragon, chained to circumstance, yearning to be free. 

* * *

Eiger stays. When an ex-KSK operative says she's got your back, Glimmer knows better than to second-guess her sincerity. Loyalty isn't freely given, but once it is, it is forever. 

Dietrich stays. Has Alexander to care for, guide towards a life outside of Humanis. Plus, with those old bones of his, he says he can't take more moving. Too rooted in Berlin, like a totem standing tall amongst the concrete and slabs of the kiez. 

Blitz stays, too. Wants to find a new purpose, now that he's been taken down a peg. Adrift, bereft of a previous connection... which was tragically toxic on his end, the way Glimmar saw it. (How had he survived this long, Glimmer can't help but wonder.) What better way than to hang around the kiez as the resident novahot decker? There's always a place for deckers in the Sixth World, and with Monika gone...

Glory... 

Glory leaves. 

* * *

She's the last face Glimmer sees that night, when adrenaline yet buzzes in their veins, themselves fresh from the knowledge that whatever began at Harfeld, ended at Harfeld - permanently. Not on purpose, of course. If Glimmer had her way, Glory would be the first she'd seek out, but as it stands, she was startlingly elusive tonight. 

Not in the courtyard, not in the storeroom. Not in the living area, not in the living quarters. Not even in the garage, quiet and dusty and blissfully empty. 

No. On the balcony of the highest floor of Amsel's Emporium, opening out into the sprawl of the kiez.

By then, Glimmer has worked up a light sweat, enough that she'd tossed her suit jacket somewhere and rolled up her sleeves. The white cotton stained by dust and blood and things not worth naming; the detritus of combat before. She leans against the doorframe, catching her breath, folding her arms against her chest, relief quenching the sizzle of magic - essence! - in her veins.   
  
"There you are. For a moment, I thought-"

It hits, far harder than it should. It hits harder than a U-Bahn at full speed, going off its rails. It's the realisation that the moment Glory walks out that door downstairs, that's the last of her Glimmer would see. That explained the cleared-out locker, the packed duffel, the organised bunk. The new motorcycle in the garage, oiled and raring to go.

It comes out more plea than statement. "Glory, don't- I'm coming with you." 

Glory cuts a forlorn figure against the blackness of night, moon hanging low. Her raven locks flow into the dulled gunmetal of her chrome, curling at the edges. Fluttering in the slight breeze that kisses cold on Glimmer's skin. 

They stand no more than an arm's length away, so why does Glimmer feel like Glory is an entire world away?

Glory keeps her back to Glimmer, unwilling to show her face. "I'm sorry, Glimmer. I have to do this alone."

"Harrow's dangerous. Surely you would not object to a mage at your back?"

"I don't. But as I said, this is for me and the spirit bound to me alone to face. This is somewhere you cannot follow."

"And why is that?"

"As you said." Glory finally turns, her head partway to a side, one eye ringed red seeking Glimmer's. A concession. A connection. "Harrow is dangerous."

"Keep your secrets if you will, for they are yours, and I have no right to what you are unwilling to give. I do not, however, understand why you insist on needlessly putting yourself at _risk_ -"

It happens too fast. 

Glimmer should've known that cyberware enhanced reflexes, motions. She should've known - _does_ know - that Glory reacts poorly to being pressured, pushed, because she'll clam up faster than Eiger can scope and headshot a target from kilometers away. And that's two and half seconds, for posterity's sake - her crew are one of the best professionals in the Flux State. She should've known that Glory is, ultimately, a street samurai who eviscerates foes with her hand razors... up close. Close enough to see the life leave their eyes.

More damnably, she should've known that despite the deadened look, there is a heart buried under that cyberware. A person. Someone still capable of feeling, just not the way those with more essence do. 

Glory lunges, but not to choke. Only to press a clawed finger - gently - on Glimmer's chest, just below the collar, where the fabric had sprung free of the button meant to clasp it. And Glory buttons it back, so the edge of Glimmer's shirt doesn't flap in the night chill anymore. Her gaze, downcast. Her voice, barely crossing a whisper. 

"Do you trust me, Glimmer?"

Glimmer's breath catches at the contact: too stifling, suddenly close, heart seizing- "Absolutely."

"I understand you're scared. I would, if I could feel as you do. But I do not. I am aware of the risks going after Harrow, and believe me when I say I have made the best arrangements I can. Take faith in how Harrow doesn't control the Adversary this time. That _I_ have the Heart of Feuerstelle with me, this time."

What is there to say? What _can_ Glimmer say, that doesn't involve an _I can't bear to lose you_? Such thoughts... unbecoming, unbidden. This is neither the time nor place for sentiment. 

Glimmer swallows, straightens. Stands firmly on both her feet, off the doorframe. Crushes her ridiculous feelings with the grace of a mage partial to fireballs vis-a-vis the subtleties of mental manipulation. "Come back safe, Glory."

 _Please_. 

Impulsively, tenderly, Glimmer tucks a loose strand of hair behind Glory's ear, just as Glory finally looks up, eyes widening just the barest of inches-- 

But she does not flinch at Glimmer's touch. "I cannot promise that. I can only promise to try." 

Glimmer's heart sinks as fast as it rises. Shadowrunners court death every instance they run, but somehow, this feels different. Different enough to give her pause, befuddle her long enough that Glory steps past her and into the dark of the safehouse without another word. Glimmer's hands are a second too late in reaching out for talons, claws, wrists - and so they hang limp in the air, vulnerable to the seeping chill that pricks at her bones. 

That's the last Glimmer sees of her friend, _friend?_ , because hurrying down the steps after, hair askew and thoughts scattered, Glory's bunk is empty. Her locker, closed. The duffel, missing. 

The motorcycle, gone. 

"Boss?" 

She senses more than hears the shaman as he appears, distinct essence rolling off him. Where Glimmer is sanguine, Dietrich is electric, discordant - change beckoning like a threat. Maybe he'd followed her around the safehouse and into the garage, maybe he'd picked up on bad juju in her essence and found her here - one spellcaster to another, connected as fellow Awakened. And of course, their love of suits - only that Dietrich prefers a three-piece without the shirt. Can't cast spells if you wore the ungainly things Eiger did, even if it made you as hardy as sponge. 

"I don't know if she's coming back."

"She's a tough nut, boss. Give her some credit. Lot of lives yet in that chrome of hers."

"Did you know?" 

"That she was going to leave? Yeah, yeah. She didn't say it, but she said it in many little ways. Spending more time alone was the biggest tell. She's got a lot on her mind, and I don't blame her, just-- I'm guessing it's more than just Harrow or Marta."

He's right. Glory can more than handle herself - she's a survivor encased in chrome. Glimmer is overreacting to this. 

She learns that something's changed between her and Glory, and she is terrified. 

Dietrich squeezes her shoulder when she doesn't reply. 

She also learns, in the quiet of her bunk, that that's what Monika had done for her, too, when Vienna captivated her with rousing speeches and unshakeable optimism those years ago.   
  
Sometimes, to love is to let go. 

* * *

Glimmer does not know what to do with the Kreuzbasar. 

Monika left her her town, her team, her legacy. _Herself_. Till now, Glimmer had carried in her bones this hesitance to meddle in the affairs and relationships entwined in the Kreuzbasar - it felt like tarnishing the memory of a fallen hero, whose body had yet to turn cold. It was as it was - of what use is to change what works? Yet, Lucky Strike's words ring in her ears: what anarchist is a leader who issues commands and expects others to follow?

Glimmer does not know what to do with herself, too. With Glory gone, she finds herself... adrift. Even in the reassuring constancy of Eiger and Dietrich. A strange feeling for someone she doesn't consider more than a dear friend. 

A dear friend. Her _mein Schatz_.

"No," she tells him, the man on the train, the agent of the king of dragons who could crush F-State on a whim. 

For once, she's clear on what she needs to do for her kiez. Perhaps it took squaring against a dragon, against a deranged scientist, to realise that life or death - better it be on their own terms. Not on some dragon's whim, some megacorp, some other trash power littering the Sixth World.

Never make a deal with a dragon. 

No. 

Glimmer has a better credo. 

She will go down with her town. On her own terms. 

The corps and Lofwyr's forces push them out of Berlin in the end, but not wholly. Not without losses. Not without inciting the wrath of the Free Peoples of Berlin Mitte. It's enough that the Corps-Lofwyr coalition can go no further than West Berlin, and that's how the wall rises up. 

Life goes on, with or without walls.


End file.
